Ghosteater paused, surprised. If this man had been at Marshwren, he was older than expected. Older than the émigré knew, perhaps. He approached the man and nosed him, inhaling, searching for the subtlest of clues. Yes, from the other realm and quite old for his kind.

“Why are you here, native?”

The man touched Ghosteater’s foreleg. “Strong,” he whispered.

He was almost drained, close to losing consciousness.

“Native, why are you here?” Ghosteater repeated.

“Fugitive.”

The wolf understood, then, to some degree. The humans made laws, snared one another in them, punished those who transgressed. Sometimes the transgressors escaped. This world had long provided a hiding place for fugitives from the other.

It was such a one who had ensnared him in years past and led him to the rending fields at Marshwren and elsewhere.

Ghosteater pushed the memory away. The man here before him was another.

He thought instead about laws. Their virtue escaped him. Beasts had a different way — the strongest ruled until a stronger one emerged. To structure and bind existence in a system of laws and submit oneself to them — this was repellent to him. A law had no claws of its own. It had no teeth. Thus it should have no sway.

Whatever rules Ryzik had broken didn’t matter to Ghosteater. He thought about the situation.

Initially, this man had not interested him enough to squabble with the émigré. Now he did — so worthy an adversary. Looking down at the crumpled figure, the beast laid claim to him as prey taken. Now he alone had the right to kill him, and that he chose not to do, at least for the time being.

“Rest, fugitive. I will guard you.”

Two hours later, someone used an essence-worked barrier to punch through one of the basement walls. Ghosteater raised his head and watched Cordus and several of his people climb through the hole. The fugitive was sleeping behind him. Ghosteater yawned expansively, showing off his teeth.

“Émigré.”

“Elder beast,” Cordus said, “I am sorry to have been delayed. The device I gave you stopped functioning before you reached the city.”

Ghosteater looked back at him, not feeling a response was needed.

Cordus’s eyes shifted. “I see you have found him.”

“Worthy prey,” Ghosteater said. “He is mine.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. The beast studied the people Cordus had brought. One of them was a barrier-worker. He had some strength. Nevertheless, none of them posed a threat. The émigré, of course, did.

Finally Cordus said, “I recognize that you claim him as prey, but Miss Ryder must be recovered. You will not prevent me from doing so, even at the cost of Mr. Ryzik’s life.”

Ghosteater thought about it. In his eyes, Cordus had no particular right to the she-pup — he could find what he was sharp enough to track, keep what he was strong enough to hold. Other claims didn’t matter.